Skye O'Malley

A sympathetic Captain Sir Robert Small handed him a basin into which Cecil spat. “Try another sip, my lord. It’ll stay down, eventually.” Cecil swallowed again, and although his stomach rolled rebelliously the wine remained where it was. Warmth began to seep back into his body.

“Well,” said Robbie, “You’ve seen the evidence with your own eyes, my lord, and the Spaniard’s confirmed the log entry. Will you now release Lady Burke?”

“Aye,” said Cecil weakly. “It would appear that we have made… an unfortunate mistake.”

“When?” Robbie’s voice was sharp.

“In a few days, Sir Robert. I must tell the Queen and then, of course, Her Majesty must sign the release for Lady Burke.” “You’ll let Lord Burke see his wife and child?”

The wine was strengthening Cecil. “No,” he said firmly. “Lord Burke was forbidden to leave Devon. The Queen is not to know he’s Here now, for it would anger her to learn that he disobeyed her. I will tell her that I have sent for him to come up to London and escort his family home, knowing Her Majesty would want it so. That way, when we release Lady Burke, her husband’s appearance will not offend the Queen.”

At Greenwich, Elizabeth Tudor had dismissed her maids of honor, and lay contented in Robert Dudley’s arms, luxuriating before a crackling fire. Her dressing gown was open to her navel, and she purred with pleasure as he stroked her small breasts. “Bess, for God’s sake let me!” he pleaded, as he had pleaded so many times before. He didn’t know why he allowed her to do this to him. She used him to satisfy her curiosity about sexual matters, but she never actually gave anything of herself.

“No, Rob,” she chided demurely. “I must remain a maid until I wed.” She felt his ill-concealed lust, and wondered, as she had wondered so many times before, why this selfish, shallow, ambitious man attracted her so.

/ wed, she had said. Not we wed, he reflected bitterly. Was what the gleefully malicious gossips said true? Were his chances of being England’s King over with? Angrily he bent and kissed her. It was a brutal kiss, a cruel kiss of such intense love-hate that Elizabeth shivered with delight. “I want you, Bess,” he muttered furiously, and I mean to have you!” He yanked her beneath him and, straddling her, pushed her skirts up, exposing her long, slender legs with their black silk stockings, gold lace garters, and milk- white thighs. “Rob! Rob!” she protested as he fumbled with his own clothing, what you’re doing is treason! Stop at once! Would you rape your Queen?” But her black eyes were dancing with excitement. This was he furthest they had ever gone in their charade.

“Aye, Bessie, I’d rape you! You’ve played your teasing game with me once too often. You can hang me afterward, but by God, I’ll have you now!” He had managed to release his swollen organ from its bindings. She’ll not hang me, he was thinking. One good pending, and she’ll belong to me forever! I should have done this three years ago!

Beneath him the Queen struggled physically and mentally. As he rubbed his hardened manroot against her throbbing clitoris she wonlered if she dared let him do this thing to her. Maybe just this once, so she could truly know what it was all about. No! No man must ever have dominion over her! Look what had happened to her mother, to Anne of Cleves, to poor Cat Howard! Subjected to her father by love, lust, and ambition, they had all paid a terrible price. If she let him do this to her even once and there was a child, she would be forced to marry him! Never! No!

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Majesty, it’s Lord Burghley. He says it is urgent.”

‘Tell him to go away!” hissed Dudley.

“We will receive him!” the Queen cried out, and the Earl of Leicester swore violently. “Bitch! Oh, God, Bess, you’re a bitch!” He struggled off her, pulling his clothes together. “Straighten your gown, for pity’s sake, Bess! If being Queen is more important to you than being a woman, then you’d best look like a Queen.” The door opened, and the maid of honor announced, “Lord Burghley, Your Majesty.” The maid of honor was red-haired Lettice Knollys. She cast Dudley an amused glance, and he knew that she knew.

She’d probably been listening at the door. Another bitch! “Madam,” Cecil bowed. “I regret disturbing your leisure, but I have received important information in the matter of Lady Burke.” “She has confessed?” Elizabeth looked eager.

“No, madam. It would appear that she is not guilty at all. The evidence presented me is irrefutable. Sir Robert Small and Adam de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Isle, came up from Devon to present it.”

“And what is this evidence?”

Her chancellor told the story simply but thoroughly. “Their story would appear to be a logical explanation of the pirating of King Philip’s treasure ship, especially since much of the treasure was on this ship. Since no evidence can be found against Lady Burke, and believing that you will want to release her now, I have sent for Lord Burke.”

“You take a great deal upon yourself, Cecil,” said Dudley arrogantly.

“D’you now speak for the Queen, Leicester?” Burghley snapped. His hatred of Robert had not lessened over the years. Now he fully intended seeing that Lady Burke was released. Damn the vain fool and his role in all this! Had Dudley not forced himself upon the beautiful Countess of Lynmouth and had Elizabeth not condoned his outrageous behavior, Lady Burke would never have needed to revenge herself on the Queen. William Cecil did not for one moment believe the tale of the Gazelle, but he would swear with his dying breath that he did, for it was the best way out of an impossible situation. Which portions of the Gazelle story were true and which were not interested him not at all. Cecil gazed expectantly at the Queen.

“You think I should release her, don’t you, Cecil?”

“Yes, Majesty, I do. It is only just, and you have always been Justice’s champion.”

“D’you think she is guilty?”

“No, madam. I did once, but no longer. How can I, in the face of such overwhelming evidence? Sir Robert said he could understand my suspicions, given the circumstances and the O’Malley history, but Lord Burke could not see my point at all.” William Cecil shrugged. “These Irish are such volatile children.” “Very well, Cecil. Write the order for Lady Burke’s release in the custody of her husband. She is not to be freed until he arrives to claim her. You may tell her today, though.”

“Madam, once again your generous nature has served you well.

I am proud of you.” The Queen bridled with pleasure. “I am feeling gay again,” she said. “Will you send my maids to me as you leave, my lord? And Rob, you must go as well, for I long for the company of my own sex now.” She smiled archly at him.

The chancellor bowed himself politely out of the Queen’s presence, but the Earl of Leicester pushed angrily past him and out into the antechamber, bumping into Lettice Knollys as he went. He swore a particularly vile oath, and Lettice laughed softly. “Bitch!” he snarled. “Don’t you dare to laugh at me!” “Oh, Robert,” she said low. “Why don’t you let me give you what my cousin won’t.”

He gaped at her. She wasn’t a bad-looking wench with her amber cat’s eyes and red-gold hair. She had nice big tits too, he noted. But he wasn’t sure he’d understood her. “What the hell do you mean?” “Bess won’t lie with you, Robert, but I will,” she answered frankly.

“What of your husband?”

“Walter?” Lettice laughed again. “What about him?” A slow smile lit Dudley’s features. He was beginning to feel expansive again. He backed Lettice skillfully into an alcove and slipped a hand into her bodice. The warm, full breast that overflowed into his palm grew taut with unconcealed desire. “Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, well pleased, “you’re a fine piece of goods, and all set to diddle, I’ll wager.”

“I’m already wet for you, Rob,” she admitted, “but it must keep. Come to my apartment tonight. I am not on duty to the Queen after eleven.” She casually removed his hand, and moved away. Robert Dudley watched her go, feeling very satisfied. If Bess wouldn’t, there was always someone else who would. Discreetly, of course, for there was still a chance he might be King. Late that afternoon Skye started with surprise when Lord Burghley was ushered into her rooms. The chancellor, himself a grandfather, was enchanted by the sight before him. Lady Burke, her hair loose about her shoulders, sat upon the floor playing with her little daughter. The baby lay on her back, kicking her little feet and legs, cooing softly. “Good afternoon, madam,” said William Cecil. “I bring good news.”

Skye scrambled to her feet. “Daisy, take the baby.” The maidservant picked Deirdre up and hurried from the room. Skye smoothed her skirts. Pouring two goblets of wine, she offered one to Cecil. “Sit down, my lord,” she motioned him to a seat, “and tell me your good news.”